


Responsibility is A Loaded Gun

by theescapist99



Series: A Nice Place To Visit [7]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Protective Newt Scamander, implied crewt, ish, jerk percival graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: When Newt and Credence visit New York for quick drop by, a short encounter with the real Percival Graves leaves Credence pining over the false one. With the short amount of time they have left in the Big Apple, Newt attempts to help Credence find some closure.Too bad Mr. Graves isn't quite as eager to fix the situation.





	Responsibility is A Loaded Gun

 “Why doesn’t he treat me like the other Mr. Graves did?”

Credence asked the question suddenly as Newt was bringing another spoonful of soup to his waiting mouth, and he nearly dropped it all at Credence’s words.

“Wha – what do you mean?” Newt stammered awkwardly -- his eyes automatically doing a ping pong around the small diner --- looking at anything rather than the young man who sat across from him with an untouched plate.

“You said this Mr. Graves was different,” Credence explained almost sulkily, “But I wasn’t expecting _that_ different. _This_ Mr. Graves is kind of cold and I don’t know… rude, almost.”

“Well,” Newt sighed, putting down the spoon just as his appetite descended along with it, “This is the real Mr. Graves, I suppose.”

“And the one I met before was the evil one?” Credence quirked an eyebrow, his tone disbelieving.

They were only visiting New York for a short time – strictly on research business – but Newt had insisted on checking in with Tina.

In turn -- they had found themselves face to face with an equally surprised Mr. Graves, who was supposedly just at the Goldstein’s for a drop by visit.  

It was very short and very awkward and had obviously left Newt’s young companion with a bad taste in his mouth.

“Well we barely spoke to the man,” Newt shrugged slightly, “You can’t have deduced that much of a person from a five second encounter, Credence.”

Credence frowned, “You never saw Mr. Graves like I did, I guess.”

“No, I suppose I haven’t…” Newt said somewhat shortly, honestly wishing that Credence would just drop the subject.

He knew this conversation wasn’t going anywhere good -- but after a year of allowing Credence to shadow him in his work, Newt also recognized that Credence was quick to hold a grudge and that a brand new one had now been added to the collection.

“The old Mr. Graves…” Credence lamented like he spoke of a deceased loved one, “…I only had short encounters with him too. But it was the way he would look at me… the way he would touch me…”

“...Credence, please,” Newt closed his eyes, his stomach twisting, “Really _not_ dinner conversation…”

“Sorry,” Credence pouted, “I just…I know you said that wasn’t him. I… I guess I kind of hoped…”

Newt nodded in understanding before Credence could say anything further.

Where there was carnal hunger an hour earlier --- Newt could feel the guilt gnawing at his insides instead.

In their time together, Newt had desperately tried to show Credence some of the love that his life had been lacking – but in Credence’s mind, Percival Graves would always be the first person to have shown him true kindness.

Had it not been for America’s secrecy laws, maybe that first person could have been Tina.

But Credence had no way of remembering the very first person who reached out to help… only the man who came for him afterwards, with a silver tongue and a sculpted mask.

“Is he still here…” Credence asked him then, eyes sparkling as his head shot up with the trajectory of a newfound idea forming in his mind, “… the man who was pretending to be Mr. Graves?”

“No,” Newt glared at Credence, his tone as firm as he could muster, “You’re not seeking him out Credence, _don’t you dare_.”

Credence said nothing in response, but opted to chew on his bottom lip thoughtfully. The lack of a verbal agreement worried Newt, and the magizoologist tried to reiterate the same lecture that had started to become an annoying constant.

“He was a bad man, Credence,” Newt huffed, his voice low and warning, “Any love he showed you, I can promise you it was only to manipulate you. If you go running off to him, nothing good will happen. Not for you, not for _anyone_. I don’t care what you think you meant to him Credence, or what he told you… Grindelwald will have no problem with killing you as soon as you are of no use to him.”

Credence looked away as though he had been slapped --- and again Newt felt that same burning guilt. He was never sure why the subject riled him so much, but it was certainly a conversation he was more than tired of having.

Sighing, he grabbed his cup and took a long drink of the ice water that did nothing to quell the emotional queasiness.

They only had one more day in New York, Newt supposed.

Might as well make it count.

 

* * *

 

 

When Newt was about halfway through the maze of MACUSA’s hallways, he had an unfortunate run-in with Queenie Goldstein.

“Newt!” she chirped merrily, “You’re here to see Tina?”

“Hello Queenie, um… no,” Newt winced slightly, “I’m not.”

She was going to read his thoughts anyhow… might as well drop the pretense and save time.

True to form, a look of surprise came over Queenie’s expression.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening, “Well… good luck honey.”

Newt nodded and went on his way without another word, trusting Queenie to keep their encounter private.

When he finally found the door to Percival Graves office, Newt took a few deep breaths before he knocked.

He supposed his first impression of Mr. Graves had left a lasting imprint in his mind as well.

His just wasn’t quite _so_ endearing.

 

* * *

 

“What do you want me to do, Scamander?”

Mr. Graves sneered at him from over his desk.

From the conversation they were having so far, Newt had realized Credence may have been right about the real Percival Graves after all… but he had gone through too much to settle for that.

“Talk to him,” Newt shrugged as his eyes pointedly avoided meeting Mr. Graves’ scrutinizing gaze.

The magizoologist opted instead to take in the mundane office setting – the piles of papers and animated staplers. “We’re only here for another day, you won’t have to deal with him much longer than maybe an hour.”

“And say what exactly?” Percival huffed with a scowl, “Sorry Gellert Grindelwald is such an asshole?”

“No,” Newt answered in a clipped tone, now watching a file cabinet open on its own as a loose paper flew inside, “Just convince him that _you’re_ not an arsehole.”

“Scamander look,” Percival leaned back a little in his chair, arms stretching, “I am _real_ sorry for what happened to the kid… but I’m a busy man and quite frankly if I went around to sway everyone who’s had ever had a bad impression of me, I would have off’ed myself years ago. Grindelwald dealt us all a shit hand… but this kid’s feelings are simply not my responsibility.”

“He was never my responsibility either, Mr. Graves…” Newt reminded him in a low mumble, “… but I still picked up the pieces after you broke him.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

The director suddenly screamed at him --- what little patience he had remaining clearly broken, “That was Grindelwald, not me!”

“Right now,” Newt muttered darkly under his breath, though his eyes still could not meet the man, “…. I’m not sure I see a difference, Mr. Graves.”

Newt took advantage of that moment – when Percival Graves seemed shell shocked by the pure audacity – to take his leave.

He turned abruptly, almost to the doorway when Mr. Graves seemed to find his voice again.

Just as his hand was on the knob, the director spoke.

“Wait.”

Newt turned around with hesitation, his own patience already wilted and tired.

“Why _do_ you care so much, Scamander?” Mr. Graves asked with genuine curiosity, “What does this matter to you?

Newt grimaced.

“I suppose I know what it’s like...”

“What _what_ is like?”

“…To love someone who doesn’t quite feel the same way.”

Mr. Graves seemed to glare at the answer and Newt left the office without another word.

Credence would soon realize that he was taking a bit long for a quick “trip to the Goldstein’s” – and Newt wanted to pick up something from the bakery for their long journey home.

* * *

 

It was around noon the next day when Credence approached him in the shed, the boy looking like he had seen a ghost.

“What’s wrong Credence?” Newt frowned at his assistant’s shaken expression, his hands still busy with wringing out a dirty hand towel over a half filled bowl.

“I got an invitation in the mail…” Credence informed him slowly, almost disbelievingly, “…from Mr. Graves. The real one. I think.”

“Ah.”

“He wants me to come over tonight… for _dinner_ ,” Credence’s face flushed as though the invitation had been for something entirely more scandalous.

Newt smiled encouragingly.

“Well there now, perhaps he isn’t so bad after all.”

“Perhaps…” Credence repeated the word in a distracted whisper, a new hope sparking in the depths of his pupils.

The sight of it – of Credence discovering such hopeful thinking that was the curse of human nature – filled his heart with something both painful and satisfying.

_Perhaps._

Newt thought to himself as he wrung the towel a bit harder this time.

…. but _perhaps_ he ought to have Pickett tag along.

Just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> Claustrophobia update tomorrow... probably. :)


End file.
